


Lux

by fightlikeagirl



Category: Lucifer (Comic), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 07:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightlikeagirl/pseuds/fightlikeagirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a balmy evening in L.A., Sam receives an unexpected job offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lux

**Author's Note:**

> WELL i finished something AT LAST
> 
> no prior knowledge of the comics is really required, as it's more of a loose crossover with many liberties taken. the premise of the comic is a spinoff of sandman, where lucifer abdicated the throne of hell and owns a piano bar in l.a, and proceeds to generally wreck shit.

The bar is called Lux. 

Sam's heard of it, of course he's heard of it, but he's never been. A drink here probably costs more than his student loans. And now he's standing outside, in his best suit (his only good suit), feeling out of place like he's never felt before. The L.A. evening is crisply warm, a light breeze rustling through his hair, and he closes his eyes for a moment.

He goes in.

The building is built like a temple, and the entranceway holds no less of an ominous feeling than any church Sam's ever walked into. A heaviness in the air, a heat, that wraps around Sam and draws him in. The maitre d' asks him his name. He gives it.

His boss nods them over. "Lagavulin neat, for both of us," he tells the waiter. "Bring us the bottle. Tonight is on me, Sam." He smiles, and Sam returns it nervously.

"I want to discuss your career, Sam," his boss says. "You're one of the most promising new associates in our firm. I think you know that."

"Oh," Sam says. "That's—that's good to hear."

He always feels on shaky ground with this man. His boss is—a curious creature; always with that look like a tiger cornering its prey, eyes too bright, nearly yellow. Azazel is a demon's name, and it fits him well. Even his compliments are sharp, like raw-edged wire.

"You know that," Azazel repeats. "You stand out among your peers. And you're not used to our world yet, are you?"

"Our world?" Sam says.

"You're part of all this now," Azazel says, extending an arm, gesturing to the club. "This world. I wanted you to have a taste of it." He turns his head to the stage, to the figure at the piano, and Sam follows. “Beautiful.” He turns back to Sam. “Isn’t it?”

And Sam finds he can’t look away. “Yeah,” he says, nods distantly, watches nimble, slender fingers as they work the piano’s keys. It’s not the thin, tuneless melodies he’d picked out on a battered piano in a classroom years ago, it’s something dark and heady that he’s never heard before, never _felt_ before, because this is something that he can feel going all the way into his bones. He closes his eyes and lifts his glass to his lips, savors the heat of the whiskey as it spread through his veins.

“Just listen,” Azazel says, and he does. The whiskey is refilled, and he sits, and he listens. He watches the piano player, doesn’t notice as the other tables slowly empty, the hours tick by on his watch. Until it’s just him and his boss, and the man at the piano plays the last notes. Until the piano player stands, looks at him with piercingly blue eyes, and Azazel draws away silently, with a last nod to the man.

The man descends the stairs from the stage slowly, deliberately. He doesn’t take his eyes off Sam once. And Sam is helpless to move, helpless to look away, until there’s a firm hand on his chin, tilting it up to look at the man.

“You’re even more lovely than I was told,” he says, and Sam lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, and the man smiles wide.

“My name is Lucifer,” he says. “I’m an angel.”

A thumb caresses Sam’s cheek, light fingers touch his neck, draw through his hair, the touch like fire on his skin.

“Lucifer,” he repeats. “Lucifer, like—”

“Like the Devil,” the man—Lucifer—says, smiling crookedly. “But I wouldn’t believe all the stories. I’m not quite as wicked as they say. And I’m retired now, anyway.” He strokes his hand once more through Sam’s hair before pulling away. “I don’t mean to be so forward. But I’ve been waiting for you, Sam. I’ve been waiting for a very long time.”

“Waiting,” Sam says. “I don’t understand. I’m not—I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for, I think there’s been a mistake.”

Lucifer makes a patient little sound. “Will you join me at the bar? Have a drink with me. I’d just like to talk with you, Sam.”

He offers Sam his hand, fingers stroking over his wrist bones, and he guides Sam to the bar with a hand on the small of his back, uncomfortably intimate, but Sam can’t pull away. Sam watches him select a dusty bottle from a high-up shelf, pouring a deep dark red wine into stemmed glasses for both of them. He wonders if perhaps he’s lightheaded enough, but Lucifer’s gazing at him again with that look of curiosity and hunger, and he drinks deep.

“Azazel is one of my finest lieutenants,” Lucifer says, and chuckles when Sam makes an involuntary face. “He unsettles me, too. He did a good thing bringing you here to me tonight, though. I don’t think I can tell you how much I’ve longed to meet you.”

He lifts the glass to his lips, and Sam watches his throat work for a few long moments before finding his voice.

“I’m not special,” he says, and Lucifer shakes his head and tsks.

“Don’t demur, Sam, it’s not becoming. I know the work you’ve been doing. You’re remarkable.”

He says it with such open, plain tones, so different from the sugared flattery Sam’s gotten from his law professors, from firms with job offers, from Azazel, even. It’s appealing, to say the least, and the praise warms something in his chest.

Sam drinks, not taking his eyes off Lucifer. The wine goes to his head almost immediately; it’s— _dark_ , a heavy sweetness that lingers in his throat. 

He watches Lucifer from under his lashes. He’s unassuming at first glance, for a man calling himself the Devil. An inch or two shorter than Sam, maybe mid-forties, the softness of middle-age settling around his middle. Stubble on his jaw. The tuxedo is expensively tailored, though, and he carries himself like royalty. Elbows resting on the bar, he looks like a king surveying his realm.

Lucifer’s caught him staring, and his lips turn up in amusement. Sam blushes and looks away. Cool fingers catch his chin and tilt it back up, and Lucifer’s smile is gentle, not mocking. “Don’t be shy,” he tells Sam. “I have this effect on most people.”

Sam pulls away, leaning out of Lucifer’s reach. “You think terribly highly of yourself,” he says tartly, shaking his head to clear it.

Lucifer looks delighted with him. “And you’re impertinent! I knew I liked you.” His tongue darts out over his lips, catlike, as he surveys Sam. “Come here,” he says, and beckons.

Sam doesn’t want to obey. He doesn’t want to obey any orders from this man, this strange creature, he wants to go home, quit his job, and hide under his covers.

He leans in, sighs as Lucifer cups the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him in until he can feels Lucifer’s breath against his mouth, lips not-quite touching. “I’d like to make you mine, Sam,” he murmurs, and then his mouth is on Sam’s, tender and teasing, kissing him like a whispered prayer. Sam feels sparks jump under his skin.

“I want to make you an offer,” he says, drawing back just enough to break the kiss, his fingers still against Sam’s neck. “A promotion, of sorts. As my personal attorney. I need someone with your skills, Sam. It’s hard work, doing what we do here, constant contracts to draw up, angels and demons alike to negotiate with—so _messy_.” He sweeps his fingers down to stroke Sam’s pulse. “Name your price. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you. You were never meant to live out your life in some corporate lawyer’s office, making fat companies fatter. You were meant for something grander.”

Sam can only stare at him. It’s like Lucifer is in his head, tweaking at all the secret, shameful parts of him, the parts that never quite fit in at school, at Stanford, at work, the dark little parts that want nothing more than to fall.

“Will you do it?” Lucifer asks, his voice like silk, his voice like velvet, his voice like honey. “Say yes. I won’t ask much.”

The word catches in his throat as Lucifer’s hand skates down to where Sam’s collar is half-open, tugging open the next button, exposing another inch of skin. One more button, and he rests his fingertips against Sam’s breastbone. His heart is beating faster than he thinks it ever has in his life.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Lucifer says, voice low and rough. “You can feel it between us. Tell me you don’t, Sam, tell me you could stand to leave me now, walk out that door, and I won’t come after you.”

Sam groans, lifts his hand, to protest or to reach out, he doesn’t know, but Lucifer catches it, threading their fingers together. “Lucifer,” he says, throat dry, his voice barely more than a harsh whisper.

“Say yes,” Lucifer says, “Say yes, Sam. I want to give you everything, but you have to say yes.” His fingers brush teasingly over the next button of Sam’s shirt, going no further. “Say yes.”

Sam knows it, knows there’s no possible other way for this to play out. He’s going to fall. He chokes, and then, “ _Yes_.”

Lucifer’s answering smile is that of the cat who got the cream. “A kiss to seal the deal,” he says, and his hands are in Sam’s hair again, holding him steady as he kisses Sam hard and fierce, a bruising kiss, sucking hard on Sam’s lip.”

He doesn’t ask, just draws Sam up the stairs, dark oak and smooth banisters gliding under his fingers as he leads Sam, his other hand in Sam’s. His lips press once against the back of Sam’s neck.

The bedroom he leads Sam to is an imposing work of Gothic traditions, the bed carved out of an old, dark wood, shapes like faces peering out of it with twisted sneers. He doesn’t linger on them, though, when Lucifer turns him around to slip his jacket down his shoulders before pulling him in even closer to press a bruising, biting kiss to his throat. He isn’t sure when he said yes to this, exactly, to falling deeper than he ever could have imagined, he just knows that Lucifer’s touch makes something in his blood _burn_.

Lucifer noses up his neck, presses another little kiss to his jaw.

“You have no idea how tempting you are,” he says, mouth still against Sam’s skin, quickly undoing the rest of the buttons of his shirt. His hands go up Sam’s sides, pressing in and finding tender places to make him squirm.

Sam groans when Lucifer tugs his trousers down this thighs and reaches in to cup him through his underwear. “Thought you were supposed to be the one tempting me,” he says, trying for a last ditch chance at control, his breath coming short and unsteady.

Lucifer laughs at that, a warm, pleased sound. “So I am,” he says. “Have I tempted you? What kind of wicked things do you want me to do to you?” He pushes Sam towards the bed, laying him down on his back, head against the pillows. He leans over Sam, knees planted on either side of his hips. Sam reaches out, can’t help it, draws his hand down the curve of Lucifer’s back, and Lucifer smiles at him, looking fond.

“I’ve been waiting for you for longer than you can imagine,” he says quietly. “I have plenty of plans for you.”

His hands haven’t stopped their roaming over Sam’s body, tracing every inch of his skin. “I want to fit myself into your bones. I want to go so deep you can’t tell where I end and you begin.”

God, but his dirty talk is weird. Possessive in a way he’s never encountered, in a way he thinks perhaps only a creature like the Devil could be.

“You want a lot,” Sam tells him, and gasps when Lucifer finds a ticklish spot.

Lucifer kisses him deep, wet and filthy, licking his mouth open. “What do _you_ want, Sam?” he asks, and presses another kiss to his forehead.

“Just—” Sam stutters, as Lucifer’s hands drift almost casually lower, “just—that, more, please just touch me.”

He moans as Lucifer pushes his thighs apart slowly, light fingertips stroking over his inner thighs before kneeling in between his spread legs. “Like this?” he says, and Sam gives a shaky nod.

He tips his head back against the pillows and shuts his eyes, a shivery anticipation rising in his stomach at the slick sounds of Lucifer squeezing lube into his hand. The first pad of his finger presses gently against his hole, tracing the puckered ring of muscle before pressing all the way in. The other hand rests on Sam’s thigh, tips of his fingers stroking in idle circles as he works his finger in and out, adds a second one, pulls a shuddery noise from Sam’s throat. And it’s good, it’s good, having Lucifer inside him like this, fingers scissoring and working him open.

He’s impossibly hard, he thinks he’s going to come before he even gets Lucifer’s cock in him, and Lucifer gives him a stern look like he knows exactly what Sam’s thinking, like he knows every thought Sam’s ever had. “No,” he says. “You’ll wait.”

Sam arches his back and whines, pinned tight beneath Lucifer’s gaze. He wants, he wants. At last he’s rewarded with the sight of Lucifer unzipping his own trousers, pushing them down his hips just enough to free his cock, and God, Sam could just die like this, just from this sight. From Lucifer kneeling over him, tuxedo only lightly mussed, eyes bright and hot with intent. He looks so positively regal, so commanding, Sam can easily imagine him on a throne, a crown perched atop his head.

“You think you’re ready?” Lucifer asks, reaching his hand up to stroke Sam’s face, eyes crinkling up at the corners.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sam groans, “yes, already.” The anticipation is a hot creature inside his chest, begging for more, and at the same time terrified of how much he needs. He thinks he could ask anything of Lucifer, and Lucifer would give it to him.

Lucifer laughs and kisses him deep, positioning himself at Sam’s entrance, mouth against Sam’s neck as he pushes in, slow, finally. The pace he sets is equally languid and gentle; he fucks Sam like they have all of eternity to spend together in this bed.

“Absolutely beautiful,” he says, “underneath me like this, all mine. Aren’t you, Sam?”

Sam nods helplessly as Lucifer fucks into him, deep and so good, brushing against his prostate. “Yours,” he gets out, “please, yours—”

“Every inch of you,” Lucifer says, wrapping his hand around Sam’s cock and pumping once, twice. “Every drop of blood in your veins, every thought you’ve ever had—you were always mine, just waiting to find me. I do not intend to ever let go of you, Sam,” Lucifer informs him, moving above him and inside him.

He comes with the full weight of Lucifer’s eyes on him, unable to drag his gaze away, wide-eyed wonder, and Lucifer follows him over.

It takes Sam a few moments to register anything around him, comes back to watch Lucifer stripping off the last of his clothes, curling his naked body around Sam’s. The soft curves and angles of his body fit so neatly into Sam’s, and he lets out a long breath as Lucifer wraps his arms around him and pulls Sam’s back flush against his own chest. His lips trace Sam’s shoulder, pausing to press little kisses all over.

“Sleep,” he murmurs. “We have _so_ much work to do.”


End file.
